“So, we go before the judge at noon, and then what?”
“We submit the paperwork to the court, and the judge releases the girls into your custody. It should be a short hearing, all told.”
“And then they come home with me.”
“Right. We’ll need to get them evaluated by a pediatrician, a court-appointed psychologist, and test them academically, so we know where we’re at. We’ll need them enrolled in school as soon as possible. I feel the longer we wait, the harder it’ll be. As their social worker, I’ll be here for support throughout the process.”
Through slits, I watch the man rake his fingers through his hair. Mrs. Haskell smiles, unruffled. Even I know we have mountains ahead of us.
“No doubt there will be an adjustment period for the girls, Mr. Benskin. For all of you. I won’t lie to you.”
The man strokes the stubble on his chin with faraway eyes. I don’t want him catching me, but I can’t look away. I watch his lips as he speaks.
“Did you discuss any of this with Carey? She’s spent a long time in those woods. I don’t know what Joelle filled her head with, but she’s not taking too warmly to me.”
I wouldn’t have thought he cared what I felt. I let the knowledge settle, sinking like stones to the bottom of the creek, only this time, the creek is my stomach.
“She’s agreed to go with you. Not without some hesitance, I admit, but she knows it’s best for Jenessa.”
The man nods.
“Please don’t take it personally. Her reluctance is understandable. Since you’re not, in the usual sense—” Mrs. Haskell stops. But not the man.
“Her father. I know.” He sighs, deep and wide like Ness does sometimes. “I’m her father, but I’m a complete stranger to both these girls.”
“I assure you, they’ll have the services of the state of Tennessee at their disposal. We’ll get them back in school and all caught up in no time. We’ll help them adjust. Like I said, kids are resilient.”
“And reporters? Won’t they be all over this story?”
“I’m processing them as Carey and Jenessa Blackburn. That’s the name they’ve been using, anyway, and your wife’s maiden name is more likely to go under the radar, especially for Carey. I suggest we continue to use that name to enroll them in school.”
My father nods weakly. I can feel what he’s feeling. I’ve worn his face many times myself.
Hoping Mama will come back in time. Hoping I can protect Ness if an intruder enters our woods, or a hungry bear, or a hungry bear with cubs in tow, even worse. Hoping I can love Ness enough to grow her up healthy and normal, whatever that means. Hoping I can fill her growing mind and heart when I can’t fill her stomach... hoping she’ll forgive me for the white-star night, and keep on forgiving me every time I can’t fix things. Like now.
“You’re going to need buckets of patience, Mr. Benskin. Jenessa’s muteness will take time to sort out, and Carey comes with her own set of issues, no doubt. There’s no telling what these children have been through.”
My father begins picking at the edge of his cup. When he looks at her, I can tell his eyes are locked on something in the past— something that seared deeply and left the worst kind of scar: the inside kind. Mrs. Haskell’s eyes grow soft. She’s good at that, and I can tell it comes from someplace true.
“The girls are their own family unit. You have to remember that. They’re all each other had. It may be best to honor that, for starters. Carey is very mature for her age. Thank God, for Jenessa’s sake. As long as the decisions aren’t the big ones, I’d let Carey take the lead—at least until the girls warm up to you. It might help Jenessa adjust better, too, if Carey remains in charge.”
The man’s jaw is set, and his cheek muscle twitches. I don’t know what it means, or what he’s feeling; whether he agrees with Mrs. Haskell or resents her advice. I just don’t know. I don’t know him.
Abruptly, he pushes his chair back and towers above her.
“I’d better go get the girls some breakfast. They’re going to be hungry as bears when they wake up.”
“That’s a wonderful idea. We’re going to have to get them up soon. Court is in a few hours.”
I wait until he’s taken Mrs. Haskell’s order and the door wooshes shut before I make the appropriate waking noises, stretching my arms toward the ceiling. Next to me, Jenessa sprawls on her back, her sweet curls falling over her face. She sleeps like a rock, like little kids do. Carefully, I smooth a curly tendril out of the corner of her mouth. I see no reason to wake her until the food arrives. Plus, it gives me alone time to talk with Mrs. Haskell.
“Good morning, Carey.”
Mrs. Haskell’s hair is flat and she’s wearing the glasses again, in lieu of what I now know are contact lenses. It’s astounding, not just that people actually put tiny circles of plastic on their eyes but that they actually work.
“This is for you.”
She holds out a yellow brush in a crinkly plastic wrapper, small enough to brush Nessa’s Barbie’s hair, and a little tube of something. I look at it and mouth the word: Crest.
With her eyes matter-of-fact, she makes pretend I shouldn’t already know what it is. I’m grateful for that.
“That’s a toothbrush, and the tube is filled with toothpaste. You put a little on the brush and scrub your teeth with it.”
“Oh yeah. I remember now.”
My cheeks burn as the fuzzy memory returns, of Mama’s hand moving back and forth in front of my face, my lips curled back as I stood on a little white stool and leaned over the bathroom sink.
“That’s mighty convenient, in a tube and all. Ness and I used baking soda and tree bark. Mama said the soda would make our teeth cleaner and whiter.”
“Baking soda is a good substitute, if you don’t have toothpaste. Your mom was right.”
I nod, relieved. Relieved not to be that backward.
As I brush my teeth at the bathroom sink, I hear Jenessa waking up, groaning in that low way of hers, which is as close to talking words as a stranger will get. Mrs. Haskell makes her way to the bed, and I concentrate on the brushing. I make a face at the toothpaste taste, studying myself in the mirror. I can’t stop staring at myself.
“It’s okay, Jenessa. Carey’s right there in the bathroom, brushing her teeth.”
I hear the bed shifting and the pad of bare feet. Jenessa stands in the doorway, her lower lip trembling.
“I’m not going anywhere, baby,” I say, my mouth full of white bubbles. “And, look at this! It’s your lucky day,” I say brightly.
I peel the plastic from the pale pink toothbrush sitting on the ledge of the sink and hold it out to her after squeezing a small ribbon of Crest onto it. Jenessa takes the brush, sniffing at the toothpaste. Her tongue darts out like a lizard’s, testing it.
“It’s toothpaste, to clean your teeth. That’s what the people here use. Watch.”
In slow, exaggerated motions, I scrub my teeth back and forth, back and forth.
If I was expecting her to decline or argue, she doesn’t. She stands on tiptoes next to me and gives it a careful try, smiling at the bubbly film on her lips and then up at me, like a modern girl trying new things. I watch her watch herself in the mirror, as mesmerized by her own reflection as I am by mine.
By the time the man comes back with breakfast, we’re seated at the table. I get up to open the door when he knocks, taking two bags from the bunch he’s juggling.
The food lies unpacked on the table, and my stomach rumbles at the feast spread out before us. I don’t know the names for all of it, but the scent alone is stunning.
Mrs. Haskell names the food as she fills our plates: french-toast fingers, maple syrup to dip them in. Scrambled eggs. Bacon. Hash browns. Fried apples. Some of it I do know: ketchup, apple juice, and butter—real butter. I drop a few squares on my scrambled eggs and even more on Nessa’s, until her eggs rise like an island floating in a pale yellow sea.
I’ve never seen Nessa eat with such abandon, sticky s
yrup dripping down her chin, and bacon—heavenly, hot, salty bacon—three helpings inhaled in as many minutes.
“Slow down, Ness. You’ll get sick if you eat that fast.”
The grown-ups eye each other and then look to me. I get up and remove Jenessa’s plate, holding it high above her head.
“You’re going to throw up if you don’t slow down!”
She kicks at the rungs of her chair, her hands in fists.
“You know we don’t kick. It isn’t civilized. Remember?”
Her legs still. She puts her fork down obediently, her eyes welling.
“If I give you this plate back, you’d better eat like a human being, not a grizzly. You hear?”
Jennessa picks up her fork and nods, her curls bouncing. I kiss her head and return the plate. She resumes her breakfast cheerfully, her legs swinging rhythmically under the table.
Mrs. Haskell smiles at me. I bet she’s thinking of the puke from yesterday.
“Ness has a clean dress she can wear to the hearin’—hearing— but it’s wrinkled,” I say.
Mrs. Haskell holds out her hand. “Let’s see it.”
Reluctantly, I leave my breakfast and saunter over to one of the garbage bags, rummaging through it until I find the pastel pink dress and a pair of white socks with ruffles at the ankles, dingy white, but clean. I also pull out the scuffed Mary Janes, a little tight on her, but okay for an hour or two of wearing.
Mrs. Haskell grabs a metal triangle topped with a hook from her suitcase. I follow her into the bathroom, and she closes the door behind us. She pushes aside the shower curtain and turns on the water full force.
“This is a hanger,” she says, catching me eyeing it. “For hanging up clothes.”
Closing the curtain, she works Nessa’s dress onto the hanger, where it hangs neatly from the bar above.
“The steam from the hot water should do the trick. I’m glad you thought to bring a dress. What do we have for you to wear?”
No way I’m wearing a dress, even if I had one, which, thank God, I don’t.
“I have the jeans I washed in the creek, and a newer blue T-shirt. That’s all I have that’s clean.”
I study the wallpaper, the little bunches of cherries on a cream background so real, I want to lick them. Pretending it doesn’t matter is just that: pretending. The truth is, up until yesterday, it hadn’t mattered.
“I can wear my boots instead of the sneakers,” I offer.
Mrs. Haskell smiles warmly. “I think that’s a good choice.”
Fifteen minutes later, she calls me into the bathroom, the dress in hand. It’s practically wrinkle-free. I’m grateful Jenessa will look like a real little girl, not like some backwoods orphan thrown away like trash.
“Can you leave the water going?”
Mrs. Haskell nods her approval, reaches in to adjust the temperature, then leaves the bathroom.
I find Ness in front of the television, where a little bear is grinning as he’s snuggled by his mama. I practically have to carry her to make her come with me.
We’re stripped naked under the man-made waterfall, and the steam enfolds us as I soap her down. I use the little bottle of yellow stuff to wash our hair squeaky-clean, like Mrs. Haskel instructed me to do. Another memory surfaces: one of washing indoors, bubbles everywhere, and Mama’s face, smiling and relaxed, loking like a whole different Mama.
Jenessa is seal slippery against me, splashing like a baby, and afterward, I wrap her in a fluffy peach towel that brushes the ground. I haven’t seen her smile so much in a long time. Having gotten over the events of last night, now it’s like a game to her, a wonderful adventure full of tastes and sights and sounds she never dreamed existed, let alone imagined could be hers for the claiming.
I take the underclothes Mrs. Haskell hands in through the cracked door, crisp and new in crackly packages—I reckon it’s no wonder the man took so long getting back with breakfast. With my own towel wrapped around me and tucked in above my chest, I help Ness step into the underwear, bright white and smelling like store-bought, a smell that crinkles her nose in curiosity.
“Arms up.” I slip the new undershirt over her head. She fingers the tiny pink flower at the neckline. “You’re as clean as the whistle of the Tennessee warbler,” I tell her before sending her out to Mrs. Haskell.
Wiping the steam from the mirror, I stare at myself, relieved I don’t look as much like the toothbrushing stranger from an hour ago. I still have the same long dirty blond hair, poker straight. A nose that matches Nessa’s, mostly. But it’s the eyes that hold me captive, empty of concentric creek ripples and breezy tree branches playing the sky like my bow plays my violin.
Who am I now? Who was I before? Am I the same girl?
Licking a tear from the corner of my mouth, and like so many times in the past, I pray to the one who knows: Saint Joseph.
Years ago, I dubbed Saint Joseph the patron saint of Beans. It came from a story in one of the rummage sale books Mama brought back from town. Saint Joseph once saved the whole of Sicily, Italy, by bringing forth a plentiful harvest of fava beans.
Nessa insists she loves fava beans, even though she’s never had any. Maybe that’s why. We ate most kinds of beans in the woods. We’d have starved to death without them.
Saint Joseph, if you’re still listening, please look out for us? We’re not in the woods anymore, and I’m not sure that’s a good thing. Please keep us safe, and help me keep Nessa safe. Help me remember the es in “don’t”, not to drop my g’s, and not to say ain’t.
Most of all, please look out for Mama? No matter what she did.
On beans I pray.
4
“All rise.”
I help Jenessa to her feet as the judge swooshes out of the courtroom through a private door Mrs. Haskell said leads to his chambers, which is like his personal office-slash-dressing room. I don’t know what the slash means. All I can come up with is the slash I make when I gut a squirrel.
“Well, that’s that,” Mrs. Haskell says, smiling.
The whole thing unfolded in a mixture of mumbo jumbo, cleared throats, and shuffling papers, with a few important facts set in stone:
1. It’s true. When Mama took me away like she did, she broke the law.
2. The man had been the one with legal custody, like Mrs. Haskell said. I hadn’t fully believed it until I heard the judge say it all official like.
3. We belong to the man now.
4. Mrs. Haskell would send the court a monthly report, and there’d be weekly check-ins with her to monitor our progress.
5. We wouldn’t be going to foster homes . . . or back to the woods.
And that was that.
Out in the hallway, Mrs. Haskell turns to me with misty eyes. I can feel it sure as fava beans that she really does care about us.
“Can I give you a hug, Carey?”
I shrug, awkward as a long-legged fawn as I let her enfold me in her arms.
“You girls are going to be just fine,” she whispers, giving me an extra squeeze.
Standing back, she rifles through her purse and pulls out a square of stiff creamy paper.
“This is my card, with my office address and phone. If you have any problems or questions or need anything, don’t hesitate to call me.”
I watch her smooth Nessa’s curls off her forehead, my sister’s hair like a halo in the sun slanting through the high windows.
“You girls take good care of each other, you hear? Like you did in the woods. You did a good job, Carey. A damn good job.”
I duck my head and smile, unmoored by the flood of unexpected emotion.
“You’ll be okay, you know.”
I take a deep breath and find her eyes, green like Mama’s, but sharp and clear. She motions with her head in the man’s direction, and I nod with reluctance, the smile fading. I don’t see as we have much choice.
Mrs. Haskell grins at Nessa, who hops on one foot across the sparkling tiles, from white square to white square
, avoiding the speckled ones. She presses the card into my hand.
“Don’t forget, Carey. Anytime. And look on the back.”
I turn the card over and see written numbers.
“That’s my home number. Use it if you need it.”
We all watch Mrs. Haskell’s back zip down the hallway, and she waves over her shoulder without turning around. And then it’s just us, the three of us, sharing the same DNA in different ways, although we may as well be strangers from different planets.
“Take your sister’s hand, Carey. You girls stay on the steps, and I’ll bring the truck around.”
I obey, taking Jenessa’s warm hand in my cool one as we follow a few paces behind. My legs tremble from all the sitting, but Nessa seems fine. She rubs her stomach in small circles, her face pleading. “You’re hungry already?”
She hops up and down, wagging her head.
“How about a nice bowl of baked beans with ketchup?”
She stamps her foot.
“Kidding! We’ll have to see what he says, but I’m sure we’ll get something good.”
She skips down the hall, dragging me along.
I know what she’s saying, like I always do, even without the words. I’m dying to try the handburger, too, and the milk shake, which I remember to be something like drinkable ice cream. I don’t remember the handburger though, or the fries. Handburgers must be something you eat with your hands, not much different than in the woods. And french fries, well, French means France, so it must be something fried from France.
We may be backward in some ways, but Ness and me, we know our countries. We must have taken apart and put together Ness’s wooden puzzle of the world a few hundred times.
I do know what pizza is—it’s the favorite food of a little girl in one of Jenessa’s books, made of bread, white cheese, and tomato sauce, baked and served in triangles. And we had funnel cake once; Mama brought it back to the camper as a surprise, full of laughter and smiles, which meant her meth connection had come through.
The man pulls around the front of the courthouse, waving us over from the driver’s seat. I help Jenessa up to the cab, sitting her between us, the lap belt stretched across us.